Chapter Six #2
Four years ago, I’d believed that sound belonged to someone I’d stopped being.
Now it rolled through the floor, up my legs, and into every part of me that remembered how to use it.
The stage manager raised one finger.
Cassidy checked the path from my mark to the center riser.
The house lights dropped.
The pavilion erupted.
I looked at her.
She stood in dark navy and charcoal, hair secured, earpiece in place, one arm already darkening from the monopod she’d stopped.
“See you after,” I said.
She held my gaze.
“Make them remember why they came.”
The opening bass hit.
I ran onto the stage.
White light burst across the pavilion.
The sound hit me hard enough to shake the riser.
I caught the first lyric on the downbeat and let the crowd take the last word of the line. Thousands of voices answered. The band drove into the chorus behind me while the dancers crossed from both wings.
My breath settled.
I stepped, turned, inhaled, and sang.
I hit the jacket cue on time.
The champagne bomber came free beneath the gold wash and landed exactly where wardrobe had marked the floor. Fans screamed when the ivory henley pulled tight across my chest during the dance break.
Cassidy stood near the left wing.
Her attention moved across the seats, the access point, the rail, and the crew shifting behind the curtain.
Then I crossed into the next formation and caught her watching me.
I smiled into the lyric.
Her expression didn’t change, but her chin lifted slightly.
The first song ended beneath a wall of sound.
We moved directly into the second.
By the third number, sweat ran down my back and the pavilion had become one moving field of hands, phones, and faces. The fans nearest the barricade sang every word, including the new verses released only a week earlier.
Their voices met mine on the chorus, and I gave them everything I had left.
The dancers cleared for the acoustic section. A crew member passed me the guitar, and I stepped into a single white spotlight.
The pavilion quieted.
“This next one came from the years when I wasn’t sure I’d ever stand here again,” I said.
A few voices shouted my name.
I adjusted my fingers on the strings.
“I wrote it before I knew what coming back would look like. Tonight, I know.”
I played the first chord.
The arrangement opened with guitar and voice, without a track, choreography, or old band footage behind me.
I played the song I’d written after the noise disappeared and I had to decide whether music still belonged to me without Sunday Drive.
My voice held.
Thousands found the chorus and sang it back.
Near the wing, Cassidy rested one hand against the barrier. The dark mark on her arm showed beneath the lights.
I played the final progression and let the last chord fade.
For one quiet second, nobody moved.
Then the pavilion exploded.
I lowered my head as applause rolled beneath my shoes.
The band returned for the next transition, and I traded the guitar for the microphone. We ran the dance-heavy middle section, then brought the energy down again for the piano ballad.
I crossed to the rear riser and sat at the keys.
The opening notes came easier than they had during rehearsal.
Vince’s text came back to me: Take the stage for yourself tonight. I did.
I took the high note without forcing it. The sound lifted into the canopy and carried past the rows of seats toward the dark Atlantic.
When I released it, the crowd rose.
By the final number, my legs burned, my shirt clung to my back, and every part of me felt awake.
The band hit the last chord.
Light flooded the pavilion.
I stood at center with my chest heaving and the fans still shouting.
I could have left it there.
The show had delivered what the label wanted. The cameras had their comeback footage. The people in the seats had the songs.
But Cassidy stood at the wing because she’d made sure the delay ended with me onstage.
I raised the microphone.
“One more thing before I let you go.”
The crowd softened enough to hear me.
“Some of you got sent to the wrong gate tonight because somebody posted an announcement that wasn’t real. Thank you for listening to the venue staff and keeping each other safe.”
Applause rolled through the seats.
“Sunbreak Security got me here tonight after a weekend that gave them more work than I’d recommend.”
Laughter scattered through the seats.
I turned toward the left wing.
“And Cassidy O’Shea made sure I reached this stage without letting anyone else get hurt along the way.”
The spotlight operator didn’t find her. I was glad.
Cassidy stayed beside the curtain, beyond the fans’ view.
“She’s the best bodyguard in Florida,” I said. “She’ll deny that and ask me for supporting data.”
They laughed again.
Cassidy shook her head.
I grinned. “Thank you, Cass—Cassidy.”
I caught the private nickname before it reached the microphone.
Cassidy smiled.
I faced them.
“And thank all of you for giving me somewhere to come back to.”
The applause rose again.
I bowed with the band and dancers, then left the platform before anyone could demand an encore my legs might not survive.
Cassidy met me beyond the curtain.
I handed off the microphone and pulled out one in-ear monitor.
“You gave several thousand people an unsupported conclusion.”
“I called you the best bodyguard in Florida.”
“You still have no supporting data.”
“I have a stalker in custody and an uninterrupted concert.”
“You also have an entire security team.”
“Then you’re the best bodyguard on the best team in Florida.”
Crew members passed behind us, clearing equipment and moving toward the next cue. Cassidy guided me farther into the corridor before she let me stop.
She checked my face and torso.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Dizzy?”
“No.”
“Any chest pain?”
“Only emotional.”
She exhaled through her nose. “That answer isn’t useful.”
“I’m excellent. Sweaty, exhausted, and in love with my bodyguard, but medically excellent.”
Cassidy went still.
She searched my face.
“You’re still full of adrenaline,” she said softly.
“I was full of adrenaline when I admitted I wanted you yesterday. That didn’t make it less true.”
“This is different.”
“Yes.”
A cart rolled through the far junction. Rafi redirected it before it reached us.
Cassidy glanced toward the crew, the agents, and the open artist-suite door.
“We can’t do this here.”
“We can talk after.”
Her fingers closed around mine anyway.
“After the assignment,” she said.
“I’m counting on it.”
Her thumb moved once across my knuckles.
Then she drew me into the artist suite and locked the door behind us.
I barely had time to laugh before Cassidy pulled me down and kissed me.
Her mouth was warm, firm, and hungry. My arms went around her waist. I lifted her just enough to bring us level, and she made a soft sound against my lips.
I kissed her until my lungs reminded me I’d just performed a full concert.
Cassidy drew back first.
“You’re breathing too hard.”
“I danced for ninety minutes.”
“You also just came through an attack.”
“You handled it.”
“That doesn’t make your pulse normal.”
“You’re kissing me in a locked dressing room. Nothing about my pulse is going to be normal.”
She rested her forehead against mine.
“You took the stage,” she said.
“You got me there.”
“I didn’t sing.”
“You would’ve hated the choreography.”
“I could’ve handled it.”
“I believe you.”
Her thumb traced the edge of my jaw.
“I’m proud of you,” she said.
I kissed her once more.
“I love you,” I said again, quieter this time.
Cassidy’s breath stopped.
“I needed you to know,” I said.
She blinked once beneath the mirror bulbs.
“I’m glad you told me.”
A knock sounded on the door.
“Shane,” Tracy called. “I’ve kept the label away for six minutes, which is the limit of my professional generosity.”
Cassidy smiled.
“I should let them in,” she said.
“You absolutely should not.”
“This is still an active venue.”
“The threat is in custody.”
“The press isn’t.”
“That’s worse.”
She kissed me quickly, unlocked the door, and returned to work before I could persuade her that career consequences were worth another minute.
Tracy entered with two bottles of water and a towel.
She handed me all three. “Drink, wipe off, and prepare to be congratulated by people who’ll pretend they weren’t panicking twenty minutes ago.”
“I need food.”
“Backstage takeout is coming.”
Cassidy opened the door wider for the next security check.
I drank the water and stepped into the corridor beside her.
SUNDAY MORNING SMELLED like cold fries and sunscreen.
A paper carton sat open on the kitchenette counter beside two empty water bottles. My champagne bomber hung from the chair back, one sleeve brushing the floor. Cassidy’s dark-navy work top had joined it sometime after two in the morning.
We hadn’t had sex.
By the time we reached the secured cottage, she’d iced her arm, eaten half the fries, completed the final handoff, and fallen asleep with her head on my chest.
Now she stood barefoot near the French doors in her white tank and coral shorts.
She wasn’t wearing an earpiece.
Morning light touched the freckles across her shoulders. The bruise on her forearm had turned purple near the center.
I crossed the room behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist.
“You’re supposed to be resting that arm.”
“I was opening a curtain.”
“Reckless.”
“You performed after someone tried to attack you.”
“Cassidy prevented the attack.”
“She’s very good.”
“She’s incredible.”
I kissed the side of her neck.
Her hand settled over mine.
Outside the fenced patio, palms moved in the warm breeze. The inn had returned to its normal Sunday sounds: rolling suitcases, children calling across the path, and carts carrying towels toward the beach.
The detail officially ended at ten.
It was nine forty-seven.
I’d checked twice.
Cassidy turned in my arms.
“You checked the clock again.”
“I was being subtle.”
“You’ve never been subtle.”
I let my hands remain at her waist.
“When the detail ends, are you walking out that door and turning me back into a former client?”
Her fingers tightened against my shirt.
“No.”
I searched her face. “No?”
“I don’t want this to end today.”